Laments & Observations

I really like my new job. Like, really-really. It’s almost as though the last 3 1/2 years at my old office was sort of a barometer to see how much bullshit I am willing to put up with in order to work at this university. And if I had to live through that in order to get here, well fine. It’s only one street down and four blocks away, but the old place may as well be on another planet.

So far I really like just about everyone. There is, however, a resident office Crazy. I’m guessing, based on my twenty-plus years of work experience, the odds dictate that every office must have at least one. In the past, that person has been my immediate supervisor three times that I can think of; a certifiable whack-job I was required to report to. This time the heavens were smiling upon me because a few months before I arrived, this psycho was demoted out of her supervisory position. I cannot emphasize enough how grateful I am for this prior development, and maybe that’s the lesson here. I dealt with enough assholery so I’m due for a more pleasant work environment? I don’t know; I don’t care. Life is good when the control freak has no discernable power. Though I’m not naive enough to think she won’t try to stir shit up like it’s her job. I will remain viligently closed off to her.

This person is roughly my age. She started working here when she was twenty-six and has basically no other work experience. As she likes to remind anyone within earshot, FIFTEEN YEARS she has been here. Fif. Teen. Years. In one place. On one hand that is impressive to me, as my record tenure anywhere is four years and my average is probably closer to two per office. But the lack of outside influences and little bubble world she exists in is astounding. She may have been demoted but the reality is she has the power of longevity (and some crusty old professors) on her side and she is not afraid to wield it. No, strike that – she LIVES to wield it.

She was on vacation my first and second days here (another gift that had a card with it that said To Kim, Love Jesus). People hesitantly and in whispered tones gave me dire warnings. They thought they were scaring me until I assured them I may look like a wimpy wallflower but I’m a decorated veteran in office foolishness with a specialty in the arts of schmucky co-workers. Some of her stunts I heard about:

– She disregarded the university’s policies & procedures and decided to write her own and make people sign it. Some people actually signed it.

– She banned cell phones and personal calls from the office. She relented this a little for the people who have kids, but only after people complained.

– She discouraged inter-office socializing to the point people mainly communicated via email even though they worked in the same room.

– She’s told HER boss off several times, enough so that they went outside the department to the university’s main HR office to see what could be done about subordination. This is what finally got her demoted, as I understand it.

This goes a long way in upholding the universal joke that is government work. How would someone like this make almost $60K a year and not only not be fired, but get promoted in a private sector job? Unless you have dirt on someone, which maybe she has, it wouldn’t happen.

Either way. Thank the good Lord above she is not my boss but merely fodder for my amazement, my diary and maybe someday my therapist. In the meantime, I’m just happy to be here and collecting a paycheck from the same office Steve Spurrier gets his from.

Funny thing about being unemployed – Sunday late afternoons/early evenings still fill me with a morbid, creeping feeling of dread. Not surprising, since I’ve always had the Sunday Willies no matter what was going on in my life. I think that may be why I ended up loving The Sopranos (and Mad Men and Breaking Bad and Family Guy etc.) so much; ah, the mind-numbing comfort of television. I’m thinking if I do a quick search of Sunday night shows in the history of television from the late 1970’s until now, I’d bet a good many of them have made my favorites list. Intriguing.

I’m not the only one with Sunday Night-itis either; my sister knows what I’m talking about.

This week I have three interviews scheduled, one of which I completed yesterday. Is there anything more insidious than a job interview? After going to the monthly therapist appointment, it became apparent the similarities between a job interview and talking one-on-one to your shrink. In both cases, all attention is focused intensely on you. You’re being questioned and then worry about what the answers you give could mean to you. You’re being judged (and we all know your therapist judges you – I mean, come on) and analyzed. The only real difference is how I feel afterwards: the therapy makes me feel mostly positive and reaffirmed, while I spend the hours after the interviews going over all the things I wish I would’ve said and berating myself for being a dorky moron.

And I swear, if one more person asks me where I want to be five years from now this is the answer I’m giving: At the Botox doctor.

Brian, who I’ve many times established is a way more laid back and positive person than myself, is in no hurry for me to rush going back to work. He’s enjoying the fruits of the stay-at-home wife, including the thoughtfully prepared dinners that are ready soon after he gets home and all the clean laundry that is not only clean but also actually put away. I enjoy it for the most part as well, but I’d be having even more fun if I knew what the time frame I’m going to have was. If I knew for sure that sometime in the next few weeks I’ll be reporting to a new job, the next few weeks would be fantastically stress-free. But we all know that’s not the way things work, especially if you’re living my life.

One thing I’m really thankful for though – if you have to be unemployed, Spring is a very pleasant time to do it. And anyway, I’m not at all attractive during the Summer months, what with the make-up that slides off my face, the neverending war against the frizz and light colored, Summer-appropriate clothing that is NOT my preferred style in any way. I look best in dark colors and mostly all covered up. For many reasons, here’s hoping the Spring version of me gets hired, so by the time Summer version arrives it’s too late and they’re already stuck looking at me every day.

It’s been a week since The Layoff and I have to say I’m feeling pretty darn good, which I never would have predicted. Me, the one who when there’s nothing on the horizon to worry about, will start imagining apocalyptic scenarios. The one who’s usually up in the middle of the night and all thoughts are falling anywhere in the realm of What If to WE’RE GOING TO DIE.

I lost my job and I’ve slept better in the last week than I have the past three months. Go figure.

That’s not to say I’m not, well, concerned is probably a good word. My Jew guilt would never let me completely be good with the prospect of being unemployed for any length of time. And yes, I am slightly trepidacious picturing life a week from tomorrow when I’ll have nowhere to be at 8:30 a.m. But strangely, and this is new, I’m feeling…dare I say…excited. I don’t want to get all into that whole everything happens for a reason garbage, because I don’t entirely buy into that. I still don’t understand the reason why people like my dad aren’t here anymore yet Charlie Sheen continues to live well and prosper. But I do think sometimes maybe when you’ve been sort of lethargic and complacent and life comes along and kicks your ass all of a sudden, it’s good to recognize you probably needed that asskicking.

Though it was by no means awful, I hadn’t really been happy at work for a long time. The university itself, well it’s still my first choice of where I want to be. But my particular department was pretty much a part of USC in name only. Our office is a condemnable building (they prefer the term “historic”) off the beaten path and not really close to where the majority of students and college atmosphere are. It took a good half mile or so of walking to get to where I felt that, which is something I did often, just to remind myself that yes, I actually do work on campus. I wasn’t unhappy enough to be actively looking for another job, but let’s be real – that was mostly laziness. Job hunting is nobody’s idea of fun (or if it is, that’s cool you weirdo) so usually if given the choice one probably wouldn’t do it unless necessary.

Obviously now it’s necessary, but thankfully we’re not in a position where I have to take the first thing I can get. No this isn’t the ideal time to be looking for a job, by any means. But I just have a feeling, for once, that things are going to turn out okay. Maybe a month from now I’ll look back on this post and laugh (and cry) ruefully, but right now I’m optimistic and I’m going to ride out this feeling as long as possible.

Something happened today that’s never happened to me before: I got laid off. (I hate that term; let’s just take the niceties away and call it what it actually is – fired. Not to mention “laid off” sounds vaguely sexual, which I can assure anyone who’s wondering; it feels pretty opposite from sexy.)

It’s something I’ve been worried about for a few months with all the talk of massive budget cuts flying around and culminating in a Center-wide email going out on a Friday in February telling all of us we’re definitely facing tough times ahead but “please don’t panic.” In my experience when somebody tells you that, it pretty much means it’s panic time. For a long time I’ve had this vague feeling of dread regarding all of this, which at times veered into outright anxiety, especially every time the news came of another person getting the ax.

I’m not as upset about the actual leaving of this job as I am that it seems like every time things are going well for us, I live in fear of what bad thing must certainly be around the corner. That is some pessimistic shit, but it’s always been the way I think. Now that the other shoe finally has dropped, it almost felt like the weight lifted and all day today the shock was tempered by little sparks of relief. It’s like now that the fear has been realized, I can relax and start using my energies toward moving on and finding the next gig.

Not that job hunting is anywhere near the top of my list of fun things, but I do feel sort of optimistic to see what’s next. There are very few people I’m going to miss from this place and for me that’s really unusual because at most jobs I’ve had in the past, I usually make a couple of close friends. That definitely makes it easier to emotionally detach, since there’s no one I’m really attached to.

Unlike others who they’ve gotten rid of lately, they’re actually giving me two weeks’ notice; with everyone else they let them know on Friday they have no reason to come in the following Monday – shitty. Everyone has left gracefully and I plan to do the same (only because of the great references they’ve promised me, though – believe THAT. Well, and even though I have some great fuck-you scenarios I play out in my mind, acting that way in real life is just not in me.

Brian, the eternal optimist, of course made my day a lot less traumatic as soon as I told him. He reminded me we’re in the best position we’ve ever been in if this had to happen, that I still have steady income coming in from proofreading and then told me he’s actually happy for me to get an opportunity to find a place I really like again. Another reminder he’s a very good balance for my doomtastic ways.

I’m there until April 1st (Happy Fool’s Day to me!), and then I guess we’ll see what happens.

I don’t understand how everything goes from routine, slow and boring to warp speed chaos without me noticing until I’m in the middle of the crazy and am totally overwhelmed. Right now I should be doing twelve other things, which is why I’m doing this. World Class Procrastinators of the world unite! …In a little while.

After months of no work with the foreclosures, George gave us like seven properties a couple of weeks ago. Some had to be cleaned out, some needed yardwork, some just needed their locks changed and I’m pretty sure two of them needed all of the above. I fully realize it’s only because he gives us this work we’ve been able to accomplish things we never would have done otherwise (like pay off both vehicles within three months of each other – woo!), but anytime you have work to do on top of a regular full-time job, life gets very hectic all of a sudden. And because it’s always a hurry-up-and-wait scene, a lot of it is hard to do on what would be our preferred method, which is to get everything done as soon as possible, get the invoices submitted and get paid. I’m not saying that’s George’s fault, except that it partially is. He takes on so much he rarely knows whether he’s coming or going because most of the time he’s doing both at the same time.

My good friend Annette is coming to visit tomorrow, up from Florida. I’m of course very happy about this; we always have a good time together and have a fun weekend planned. But you know, there are certain things that are nice to do when someone is coming to stay; things like making sure there are clean linens, removing the dog hair and potentially hazardous detrious from the main living areas of the house, providing things to eat and drink. All that stuff takes time too; I know – surprise!

At the beginning of this week I was determined to make time to get the house things done so I wouldn’t FOR ONCE be running around like a psycho at the last minute. Monday I went home from work, hyper and psyched to get started. I was on the phone, talking about how we’d finally gotten rain after over a month and was absentmindedly following the dog out the back door, down the porch steps. The wet porch steps. With flip flops on. You see where this is going, obviously. I slipped off the top step and landed somewhere near the bottom, with most of the left side of my body taking the brunt of the fall: neck, shoulder, elbow, butt cheek. You know that split second after you’ve hurt yourself where you’re waiting to see how bad the damage is going to be? That anticipation went by very quickly and went straight to MOTHERF*CKING OW.

Now, not only do I feel like an idiot when I explain to people why I’m walking funny, I’m still really freaking sore. So instead of spending the last few evenings doing things around the house, I’ve mostly laid on the couch and watched TV to dull the pain. So. Tomorrow has almost arrived and along with it Annette, and I’m as ill-prepared as ever. Luckily she knows me well enough to not be offended by the state of the house no matter what it may be when she arrives. It’s good to have people who know you well.

Also on one of the back burners that should be on the front, I have another writing assignment I need to get finished, because I’m getting paid to do that too. I’m wondering when I’m going to find time to walk again, now that the weather is what I’ve been waiting for since I started walking in June. Even the damn dog wanted to play catch yesterday and I couldn’t make the time to do that for which I obviously feel guilty about.

Don’t get me wrong; I like being busy. Especially when it’s all good stuff. I just wish I had time to actually pause for a minute, catch my breath and appreciate it all.

Has anyone seen that new show on the History Channel called Swamp People? I know, the name is a little off-putting. But as someone who will now apparently watch reality shows about ANY type of job whatsoever (I blame Deadliest Catch for this), I have to say it’s pretty entertaining – who wouldn’t enjoy watching some grizzled Cajuns hunt alligators in the Lousinana swamp? Last night we saw I think what was the second episode, and it brought up a discussion that’s been held several (hundred) times in our house: Brian’s career choices.

When I met him he was a 23-year-old long-hair working with a crew that applied stucco to newly built homes. Kinda like drywall but for the exterior and it’s bumpier. He’d been at it for several years by that time and was doing well enough that he’d been out from under his parents’ rule and assistance for about five years. He told me then: I’m not the type of person who will ever be able to work in an office, sitting at a desk. Sure, fine, whatever – you have long hair and you love to read; what do I care about your job.

After a couple more years of it though, he was burnt out, so it was decided he’d go to school. Golf course maintenance was the most logical choice, as my dad, who was was a teaching pro, had talked it up as a great career for someone who likes working outside but also someone he would like to help support his daughter.

Halfway through school Brian realized studying plants, flowers, trees and chemicals was more interesting than simply turfgrass, so he switched his major to landscape. I think it was a good choice for him, as he’s been pretty satisfied with it over the years and has continued his education with it, aquiring certifications and things like that. He seems, from what I can tell, to be pretty happy in his current job.

There was one little hiatus though, for about a year when he went way way down to South Florida (far away from me) and worked as a commerical fisherman. And this is the job that he loved more than anything he’s ever done, before or since. The only reason he’s not doing it still is because I flat refused to move down there – my goal had always been to come back HERE, not go farther south. If you’ve ever been to Fort Myer’s you’d understand what I’m talking about. And because he was gone long periods of time, it wasn’t sustainable for more than the year or so he did it. I’d been happy to support him in the endeavor because I knew how happy he was, but after awhile it had to stop.

GUILT. To this day every time we’re watching one of those stupid shows or something about fishing comes up in real life, I feel horrible. I know and appreciate how rare it is to work at a job you truly love. I’ve been gone from the one I loved for three years now and still miss it every day, so I can relate. And no, there aren’t any opportunities for him to fish (for a living) where we live now – we’re two hours from the ocean and freshwater fishing doesn’t provide any financial gain (unless you’re one of those amazing bass guys who do nothing but enter and win tournaments but that’s kind of like being a professinal bowler – there aren’t too many who can make that work).

I know he likes being home with me every night; the separation had started to get to him toward the end of that time as well. He likes my cooking and his Fox News and daily football stats and the PlayStation. But I also know for certain part of him that wishes he could go out into the wilderness for months at a time and shoot and skin whatever he’d eat for dinner that night. It runs all up and down and through his dad’s side of the family and some of them do devote a lot of their free time to hunting and fishing and sleeping in tents. Of course for them it’s a hobby and not a career, which helps.

I don’t know; there’s not really any solution to it. Besides wanting a family, I’d say this ranks up there pretty high on the list of Life’s Disappointments. Which I realize is obviously part of life, blah blah. But I still wish there was a way I could figure out how to make some of these things attainable for us. Most of us have to work but I wish more of us could love it as much as those lucky few do.

One of my co-workers just came into my office and shut the door behind her. She said, “Kim, I wanted to tell you before Janet makes the announcement, but I’ve found another job.” I was a little weirded out for a minute with a thousand different emotions (really, a thousand? Okay, maybe three or four). Deborah is a nice lady with whom I’ve enjoyed a friendly acquaintance for a couple of years and I know she’s been miserable here, so even though I’ll miss her presence, I’m more happy for her than anything else. She’s been here six years and she’s burnt – totally understandable.

I’m pretty happy here, which is why the slight jealousy I felt confused me for a minute. I don’t want a new job; I specifically applied here when we moved back and it took two agonizing months to land this position. Even with the minor annoyances I sometimes experience – because hey, it is a job and not sitting home reading all day and eating magical cookies that make you lose weight all day – so these things are to be expected and I have no real complaints. She’s moving to a different department within the university and though I’ve thought of doing that very same thing, it’s mainly only when my boss pisses me off. I liked a lot of things about my last office here, but kick-ass parking and an office with a door were not included like they are now.

But I think I know what my deal was just now anyway. She’s getting to experience change. Growth. That exciting feeling of hope and potential when something big and new is on the horizon like that. She was practically giddy with it, as she should be. But that feeling is what I’m envying right now. Like, hard.

It was a year ago this week George came to us with the offer of helping finance the fertility treatment. I remember vividly how I was literally scared of how happy I was. Having the knowledge, like a little secret bubble of happiness inside me at all times, there was actually a real shot of having my biggest dream realized changed everything. Add Christmastime to that and you had one happy-ass girl over here.

Like a lot of people, I’ve always loved this time of year, pretty much no matter what’s going on in my life at the time (barring that one year). And I have been enjoying all the holiday stuff so far this year. But the other night I looked in my date book to see what the number of hair dye I use and I saw where I’d written on the date and time of that first doctor’s appointment and it felt like a punch in the gut.

I don’t know. I know I have a lot to be thankful for and I’ve been feeling pretty good in general lately.

This week has been kind of an asshole. It has had its moments; I’m just glad it’s almost over. There’s still Friday the 13th to get through tomorrow, but that’s actually always been a lucky day for me. And the good luck even came a little early this time.

I’ve kept pretty quiet at work, which has always been fairly easy. Until recently. Now that I have my two friendly office neighbors, it’s much harder to get away with keeping to myself. I would’ve loved to have worked with my door shut on several occasions this week, but then they’d give me a hard time and have hurt feelings. Why do I care about the feelings of people I barely know? I wish I knew. But I do, so I left my door open and suffered through their jovial interactions and exhausted myself with the effort of faking happy.

I already described some of the annoying qualities of K, but this week J actually got to me more. She’s a social worker, so of course is very, well, social, and somehow manages to keep the conversation going almost non-stop pretty much All. Day. Long. It doesn’t even really matter if anyone answers her back – she’s one of those who can keep a running dialogue going with herself like a champ. But today was when I realized she posseses a quality I despise in people.

She’s a one-upper.

It doesn’t matter the topic. You’re sitting there having a perfectly pleasant conversation, maybe sharing something about yourself. Oh yes, she’s done that. She knows exactly what you’re talking about, because the same thing happened to her, only it was a few years before it happened to you. A cool restaurant you like? Oh yes, she’s been there. And personally knows the owner. Or, she knows an even better restaurant, one you should go to this weekend, it’s so great.

She came breezing in after lunch today, excitedly telling us about the best salon she just discovered. They’re inexpensive, quick, friendly and the location is the most convenient ever. Her nails did look very nice. She told me to go; they weren’t busy today at all. I started to politely protest, saying I do my own nails and that I don’t really like acrylics, but no. I have to try this place. If I don’t want acrylics, I should just get a regular manicure because it would be the best ever. When I declined, she actually told me the next time I wanted to get my hair cut, I should go there. If I had any balls I would’ve asked her if she owned stock in the place, but instead I just told her my sister-in-law works at a salon and cuts my hair for free, TOP THAT, YOU FREAK.

Even with the blustery rainy weather, I knew I had to get out of there. I practically ran out the door, not even sure where I was headed. But an idea quickly formed and I ended up at my favorite consignment shop.

On my ongoing mental wishlist there’s been a pair of perfect boots I’ve been dreaming about for a long time. Preferably black and knee-high and hopefully leather. Preferably and hopefully very affordable. Also I’ve bought and sold a lot of clothes in this place because the owner is this tough, kind of scary girl who is always hungover and bitchy and full of awesome gossip, mostly about herself. I love her a little bit and knew her surly attitude would be the perfect remedy to all the exhausting perkiness I’d been dealing with.

I was catching up with her, when out of the corner of my eye, I spotted them. If I was starring in my own cheesy chick flick, a dramatic ray of light would’ve burst forth through the clouds and the ceiling of the store and onto the shelf where these boots sat, along with the comedic chorus of angel music.

I didn’t let myself get excited at first, because come on. This stuff doesn’t happen to me. It’s a consignment shop – what are the odds they were my size? And then I saw – size 9. Well, there it was. I wear anything from a 6 to a 7 1/2 in shoes, depending on the brand. But then I rememered something about going up in size when it comes to boots, especially ones that cover the calf. Could it really be?

Yes, it could. I slipped that beautiful buttery badass thing on and suddenly all was right with the world. I stood up and looked at my leg in the mirror, already picturing the outfit I’d build around it. The owner came up behind me and said, “They were made just for you, girl.” I hesitantly turned the other one over, scared to see the price. Eighteen dollars. She saw me do it, and before I could shout out with joy, said, “For you, ten bucks.”

Whomever said shopping is an empty way to fill an void and that material possessions can’t bring true happiness is a moron. Or at least not female. No, my new boots aren’t going to actually solve any problems, mine or others’. But damn if I could wipe the stupid grin off my face all the way back to work.

Until I told the girls what happened.

“Oh wow, that reminds me of this awesome shoe store I go to whenever we’re up in Virginia…”

Things have improved greatly at work from where they were a year ago, when I shared an office with Crazy McShittybritches. Not only do I have my own office with its own door (yes, that still excites me after all these months), but I now have two new co-workers as office neighbors and the three of us get along well. After two years here, I finally have some decent companionship and it’s been a nice change.

Disclaimer: I like both of them, so what I’m about to say is not actually a complaint, but more of a poking fun at a personality trait. Good fun, that’s all.

I don’t know your policy on sharing stories about your personal life at work. Me, I’ve always been pretty middle-of-the-road. With the exception of the one or two people I usually become close friends with at a job (well besides Avatel, where we were for all practical purposes a family to the point we knew each other’s menstrual cycles, bowel schedules and sexual preferences), I limit it to brief and relatable anecdotes. Basically, until I get to know you fairly well, I’m not one to share too much of myself. Of course once you become one of my people, I will then overshare to the point of inappropriateness – ask any of them. Or hell, just read this blog.

Anyway. One of the new office friends – K. She’s a very pleasant woman; wife, mother of four and church-going. Very, very frequently church-going. But not too obnoxious with the church talk. Early on, I pulled the Jew card (which has to be the queen of diamonds, right? Hahaha!) (Oy.) and also added we sometimes attend a Baptist church. This is very effective in confusing people to the point they won’t try and save me. So, we’re cool on that front.

No, her main quirk so far isn’t as big as religion or politics. It’s the scope and nature of family stories she shares. All day. Every day. My other work friend J nor I cannot say anything to her, work-related or not, that doesn’t have her immediatley responding with a cute tale starring her husband and/or kids. I mean – not a biggie in the great scheme of things. Regardless, here’s an example from yesterday morning:

I arrive in the morning and walk to our common area, where our coffee set-up is located. (Aside: A few weeks ago I told them there was a spare coffee pot in the main break room not being used anymore, and that it belonged to me. I’d brought it in long ago when the office’s maker went kaput but we’ve since gotten a new one. We decided to confiscate it and use it ourselves, bringing in our own supplies and sharing and it’s working out great). Anyway.

We said good morning and I held up the container and said, “I brought our replacement coffee!”

Her reply: “Oh, it was so funny this morning. I didn’t brew any at home like I normally do because I knew I’d have a cup once I got here and my seven-year-old came downstairs and said, ‘Mommy, where’s my coffee!?’ It’s so funny, but about two or three years ago I got in the habit of making him a cup – mostly milk of course – when I made mine and it just became a little routine with us! I had to tell him, ‘Joshua, Mommy didn’t make any this morning but I promise I will tomorrow!’ He was so disappointed!”

My reply back: “…Awww…that’s…funny…”

Another one, just for fun:

Her: “How was your trip to Florida?”

Me: “It was great. I had a lot of fun, especially at Disney.”

Her: “Oh, that’s good. You know, Sam and I have always promised the kids we’d take a trip to Disney one day, but with everybody’s schedules being so different now and my oldest being away at school it’s just so hard. The age difference between my girls and boys really make it difficult for us to find things we can all do as a family, so whatever we end up doing someone is usually pouting a little – haha!”

Me: “…Oh…that’s…true…”

I mean, sweetgeorgiabrown! Maybe it’s because the two examples I just shared both happened fairly early in the morning and I’m not what’s commonly known as a “morning person,” or even “awake before 9 a.m. even though I get to work at 8,” but my God. In the month or so I’ve gotten to know her, I could pretty much give you a play-by-play of the entire inner workings of her household and a good portion of each child’s life history.

Do I prefer this over the sullen silence and occasional rudeness I used to get from Shittybritches? Of course. Does that mean I’m going to stop making fun of it? Ha!

Other fodder for future stories:

– Her humming and/or singing of religious music. I think I posted on Facebook the other day how I hate hummers (insert blowjob joke here) and that I’ve worked near them before. Seriously, with the humming. Do you think your co-workers are enjoying it, that we’re really getting into the melody? Or do you just not care. Or do you not even realize you’re doing it. See, the possibilities here are endless and I feel quite sure I’ll be exploring them all.

– Her breaking into a bizarre, British Cockney accent for no discernable reason, to the point that when she does it J has started calling her Nanny McPhee. I had to bite my tongue from adding, “Or Mrs. Doubtfire,” because I refuse to acknowledge the fuckery out loud for fear of encouraging it. It’s funny when Andy from The Office does it, so I’m not quite sure why it doesn’t work for K. But it doesn’t. So shut it, you silly git, before you drive me nutters!

I wonder what people say about me when they talk about what an asshole I am.

Every year this day finds me joyous, jubilent even – celebrating the last day of my least favorite season and the beginning of my favorite. This year, not so much. The biggest thing I’m celebrating today is the fact I’ve almost been awake longer than I’ve been asleep and that the rotten metal taste has almost left the inside of my mouth.

Holy crusty snotballs, I don’t remember the last time I was this sick. It’s funny how you never forget the suckiness but somehow you do forget the HIGH LEVEL of suckitude. This is when you (and by you I mean me) start to make deals with God, “I promise I’ll do better with the vitamin intake and stop counting corn as a vegetable. Just please, PLEASE get this taste out of my mouth and let all this shitty medicine start working.”

I know for a fact I was running a fairly high fever, thanks to my hi-tech, tells-you-when-you’re-ovulating digital thermometer – at one point it was over 102, but that was also in the middle of the night when I was buried under the winter comforter in pajamas and a sweatshirt. Still though. Last night I got to be awake for the exact moment when the fever broke, that beautiful pouring of sweat until you’re clammy and corpselike (can you tell I’ve been reading Stephen King?) so I’m not all the way human yet, but I can tell just by the fact I’m sitting here typing I’m well on my way back. Thank you God. Although at last check my temp was 97.5 – what the hell? Oh who cares; after days of 100 plus, I’ll take it.

The good part about this (besides the four easy pounds I lost) is for awhile now I won’t take feeling NORMAL for granted. Normal is GOOD, normal is fucking GREAT.

And I know it’s never a convenient time in our very busy and important lives to come down with something, but this was particularly shitty timing as far as work goes. I’m in the middle of a really training-heavy month, not to mention they’ve upped the terror level to P for Paranoid regarding the piggy flu. In fact, my boss was pretty bitchy this morning when she barged into my office, demanding to know what I was doing there being so sick. I calmly explained to her I was only there to do the very necessary work and then I was leaving, but also that I was trying to be considerate to everyone else by staying only in MY office, the one she just ramrodded her way into – which made her slowly back the fuck out, which was the plan. Close-talker not wanting to be so close NOW, huh?

I’m over her for reals right now. Not only for this, but a bunch of butt trifling shit that’s not even worth getting into. Just don’t be surprised when I soon start talking about other potential positions within the university. Two years of “being thankful to have a job” and “putting up with fill-in-the-blank” is enough. I still have dreams about my old job, the one I had before we moved back up here – I want to be that happy at work again. All the things I loved about working at the college are still available; I think they’re just located in a different department than the one I’m currently in. And if it’s in my power to do so, well then damn skippy, Ima do something. Make hay while the sun shines, that’s what Pa Ingalls always said.